the Stronger Grip
by psychonna
Summary: Thoughts on the frayed edge between brothers, the way their muscles tense to hold on to each other.  What-if and bare romanticism, featuring Cas and a consideration for the dislike of self-honesty.  Season 1-5.  Rated for language and violence.


the Stronger Grip

* * *

If Dean had never spilt blood in hell, the first of the sixty-six seals would not be touched. This is the first in a line of thoughts roaming around Castiel's mind as he watches the world burn. Literally burn, because the apocalypse has destroyed humanity. To many angel's chagrin, it was neither the triumphant war that they had hoped for, nor even the crippling defeat they had once shown to Dean Winchester in an attempt to have him accept Michael.

It was shocking, just how threadbare the whole thing was. Lucifer had been counting on his ability to take over Sam, it had been presumed Dean would accept Michael without a second thought (and if it took some convincing, well, they hadn't thought it would be impossible, anyway). But it seemed that much as the designs of powerful beings had revolved around two misunderstood humans a little too much, the entirety of those assumptions had also been misunderstood.

The crux of the matter was that despite all the jostling, manipulation, mind-searing soul-searching moments that both sides had spent tearing apart Sam and Dean Winchester had been all for naught. Apparently, Dean hadn't been joking when he'd claimed he'd rather die than let an angel into his body. And Sam hadn't been joking when he'd said that if Dean could handle stage five cancer to the stomach and still say no, then he sure as hell wasn't going to buckle either.

It's very difficult to properly design an apocalypse if your two key players aren't available, and then of course, Lucifer made the mistake of killing Dean in an attempt to get Sam to let him in.

Even Zachariah had thought that to be a dumb idea (after all, he'd tried to threaten Dean with Sam's life before, and he'd seen that flicker of monstrosity in Dean's eyes). Because Dean was only mortal, and the threat had been obvious. Sam? Sam had demon blood. Volatile, heavy, powerful demon blood that pumped through his veins, that had been heightened to dangerous levels to kill Lilith, and even though he and Dean were on taunt and uncertain terms with each other, it was fairly obvious that killing Dean was a bad idea.

A very, very unwise decision. Sam was the King of Once-Hell, Castiel was fairly certain. He was the king, because Lucifer was dead. Demons and humans were dead. Angels were dead, and Castiel had honestly felt a bit of surprise that he hadn't been ripped to shreds. Spared on some whim of recollection on Not-Sam's part, he supposed. It wasn't how he had imagined the apocalypse, in any case. The angels had wanted Earth to remain, sans humans, and Lucifer had been pretty much of the same mindset, Castiel had come to understand. But for everything to be gone… twisted lumps of rotted landscape were all that remained of God's green Earth, and Castiel could see from here where Not-Sam stared straight ahead, glaring at nothing. Dean's corpse was nearby, buried several feet under, and Not-Sam had already checked the pearly gates of Heaven and the charred gates of Hell for Dean, but had been perhaps too busy destroying everything to consider searching very hard.

And to be honest, Castiel had watched. Stunned, but not enough to really excuse his lack of action once Dean had fallen to the ground and Not-Sam had begun his march of swift and merciless judgment. Only after the three planes Sam had torn into had been ravaged and broken had Not-Sam returned to bury Dean. Buried, said the Christian words of farewell, and then he had sat next to the grave marker and not moved an inch. It could have been days, Castiel wasn't really sure. Nuclear reactors, oil refineries, energy plants, military bases, and normal geographical disasters waiting to happen had all happened and there wasn't much left of an ecosystem to prove that the sun still shone high above the dark clouds.

So there Castiel sat, hunched over, watching Not-Sam from far above, thinking of all the millions of things that could have been done differently. Theoretically, he should be (should have been) worrying about how to save the world, but most of his thoughts revolve around Sam and Dean. Castiel finds it odd that out of all the billions of people for the angels and demons to choose as their apocalyptic win-all vessels, they chose the two humans that were the epitome of _why_ God had seen fit to order his angels to bow down before the entire mortal race. Two humans, because although Castiel had been in awe of Dean, he'd begun to see that Dean wasn't entirely Dean without Sam and vice versa long before every one else.

They had remained the epitome of _why_ through the entire ordeal, right up until the moment Dean had been removed, thus removing a bit of Sam (which was again, part of the problem). Where had this all gone so wrong? And what was right?

Dean had been run bare the minute he got out of hell because Dean had done what any soul would do after years of constant pressure (most would have caved after one, Castiel was fairly proud to claim); he'd stepped off the rack and had begun to torture. Too bare to hold Sam together, too bare to stop Sam from believing Lilith and that terrible rush of power she gave him, and definitely too bare to handle everything that came his way. Castiel would have done anything to have gotten to Dean sooner, but angels were weak in hell, and the battle had been barely won as it was, trying to get Dean Winchester out of the pit.

The line of thoughts was out of order, clearly.

Castiel was pretty sure that he loved Dean Winchester. Not in the way a husband was to love his wife (or, when Castiel was feeling brave enough to think unspoken truths, the way Sam and Dean loved each other), but in the way Castiel was sure God had intended for humans to be loved by angels. Castiel wanted Dean (Sam and Dean) to be happy, to be strong, and that was a thought right there that demanded this entire ordeal be corrected.

If Dean hadn't spilt blood in hell, the first of the sixty-six seals wouldn't have been opened. But Dean couldn't _not_ go to hell, because then Sam was dead instead, and there was no point in saving Dean if Sam wasn't a part of the deal. In fact, Castiel was fairly certain that even if he did have unlimited cosmic power, he couldn't stop Dean from trading himself for Sam one way or another, any more than Castiel had the power to stop Azazel. In terms of pay grades and power levels, Azazel was a few steps too high for Castiel to deal with. Then there was the matter of Castiel's superiors, all of which whom were now dead but had been a great deal more powerful than Castiel to begin with, all of them seeming to wanting the apocalypse one way or another.

There were other places in the history of Sam and Dean to consider. Castiel couldn't resurrect Sam without reason, and he was fairly certain his superiors wouldn't have allowed it, given who Sam was to the demons. There was a thought of somehow changing it so that Sam won that final fight instead of Jake, but Castiel was also certain that much like Dean had suffered so greatly by caving against Alastair's pressure in the pit, Sam would never forgive himself if he killed Jake so simply. Worse, that would have opened him to Azazel's manipulations (more than he already was). All it would have taken was Dean on the verge of death, and Sam would have opened the devil's gate in Wyoming himself, and that would have resulted in the same exhausted pair of brothers as the other choices.

Castiel considered the thought of Ruby dying. It had merit, certainly, but there was a problem with that as well. The demons might not have been aware of Ruby's true stance in the death of Lilith (sans Azazel, who had known but had been taking the colt's bullet by the time Ruby had climbed out of hell), but Castiel knew that Zachariah and Uriel were two of many who had known the truth. And she was part of the design, because without Ruby to convince Sam to kill Lilith, Lucifer would never rise, the apocalypse would never start, and Dean would never have a reason to accept Michael. From Castiel's superior's point of view, Ruby could not die.

Castiel wished, as he stared far down to where Sam sat against the charred earth, that he were stronger. But if he were stronger, he would not have been assigned to Dean Winchester, and he may very well be already dead because he'd either protested against the invitation to join Lucifer's supporters or because he'd made the mistake of joining them.

Really, Castiel wasn't even strong enough to be considering the very forbidden act he was attempting to commit (once he found the point where everything could be made better), but much as Castiel had never let go of his faith in his Father, much as he had never stopped loving the humans his Father had asked that he love, Castiel could not let all of this stay as it was. He could not, would not. Not when he knew that Sam and Dean could have so much more, deserved so much more.

And really, maybe there was the key to finding the point in time. Sam and Dean were torn apart by too many forces to resist, and thus even together, couldn't quite stop everything from happening. Sam had went to Stanford. Dean had supported that, because Dean wanted Sam to be happy and have options. Dean had suffered from Sam's absence, the _bond_ had suffered from Sam's absence, so when Sam was left to hunt with Dean after his girlfriend's death, things hadn't been close enough. This could have been recoverable if Azazel hadn't begun twisting Sam through the subtleties of his plans for the special children so soon. Then John had died, which had separated the brothers a little bit in a different way, because Dean knew that Sam was dangerous, but he wasn't sure _how_ just yet.

If Dean had been at Cold Oaks, what would have happened? Sam and Dean would have won, certainly, but at what cost? No, Cold Oaks and Sam's death, Castiel was unfortunately quite certain, were on the list of things that couldn't change. Dean and Sam had never been so acutely aware of their inability to function without each other as after that moment where Dean had grasped a hold of Sam and refused to let go. It was the mirror of the collage of moments where Dean had been on his deathbed and Sam had been certain he himself was about to die if Dean faded completely. It hadn't been until Dean's death was a sure thing that the brothers had begun pulling a part.

Castiel's mind went to change gears and slid past the point he'd intended, instead returning to Dean's turning point within the pit. And then Castiel blinked, blinked again. "The first seal shall be broken when the righteous man spills blood in hell," Castiel recites to himself, mumbling the words before they crumble into the broken air.

Even after wracking his brain for every reference he can find, Castiel couldn't find recollection of a single instant when the blood is specified as belonging to a mortal soul or a demon.

The line of thoughts come to a screeching thought, because Castiel could see it perfectly. If Dean were not so uncertain of _his Sammy_ (a term that Castiel had thought breathtakingly prominent but had been used far too little as his time with the brothers continued, even in Dean's thoughts), his desire to protect his brother would have continued far beyond the grave. It _had_ in fact, because it had been Dean's driving awareness that his brother still existed on Earth, it had been Dean's inability to fail _Sam_ that had kept him from taking Alastair's offer up for so long. Similarly, had Sam's own failing faith in his brother, who had died and not been able to come back (by Sam's means or simply by miracle) not been the thing which eventually pushed him further into Ruby's arms? And it had been around the same time, more or less; three months before Sam truly stopped doubting Ruby, three months (thirty years) before Dean could not take the pain anymore.

Yes, it was vivid in Castiel's mind. If they had been but a little bit more tangled in each other, Dean would have had the necessary strength to do what no other mortal could. He had taken strength from that strained relationship and made it thirty years, with a stronger, untainted bond, he could walk straight out of hell. The blood would be spilt, and the angels would see no reason to take drastic actions that no one could stop, and Dean would not feel the same weight of guilt. He'd be strong enough to stay himself, strong enough to leave hell _sooner_, because he wouldn't be waiting (hadn't the first time) on Castiel, he'd be relying on himself (and Sam). And because he'd be out of hell sooner, Sam would never need to start relying on Ruby, and better yet, because the strength of those brothers would be stronger, he would be far more weary of her pressure in the first place. Because he would have Dean, and wouldn't need her.

Dear God.

That left the forbidden change bared open before Castiel, but with only part of the solution. Because Castiel was certain that there were very few holes in the relationship of Sam and Dean as it was, and there was only so much more to be done to make it stronger. The blatantly obvious step was the one that Castiel had seen whenever he looked at the brothers. Whenever _anyone_ looked at them, really. The fact of the matter was that Sam and Dean had been the equivalent of lovers on every level save the obvious physical one, and Castiel wasn't really sure if there were any more directions to push.

Sodomy and incest, supported from his position on the remains of a skyscraper after the end of the world had passed. Castiel was not sure which line being crossed was worse, nor was he sure he had the –as Dean would put it; the balls to condone and direct such an act. Even if it did save the world and more importantly, save Dean and Sam.

And yet, no matter how much his mind twisted around the renewed line of thoughts, solutions and 'what ifs' and moments in time where breaking points had been reached or walked around, it returned to that singular fact of If Dean and Sam had been just that much closer, DeanandSam and SamandDean would have been strong enough to do a whole lot more. They wouldn't be stretched so thin, so fast.

Dear God.

* * *

Dear Heavenly Father, whom I have dedicated my life and many others to, I beg for Revelation. I beg for your pardon, for I have sinned. I have loved two of the humans whom you instructed I bow before, and I have loved them more than any other human. I have loved their flaws and their strengths, and I have seen that they are impure in many ways and yet have retained the beauty you intended for them. And Father, I will do that which is forbidden, and sacrifice myself to turn back the clock, to change that which you have said cannot be changed. I do it not for anyone but these two, and I am guilty of many things Father, but praying for your Revelation to ensure that it _works_ is perhaps what I am most guilty of.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, and forgive me Father, for I will gladly sin again for this.

Amen.

* * *

Dean has the strangest dream. He's underneath the Earth and above it (and dreams are sometimes so freakin' impossible that it's almost not worth mentioning), and in both of these positions, he's unable to reach Sam. Unacceptable, because if he can't reach Sam, he's not Dean.

Is that still true? Are they really so singular these days? Dean's been thinking about that these days, because even though the figure in his head looks like one person (DeanandSam because Dean protects Sammy and Sammy is Dean's to protect), he's not sure it was ever so concrete. And they make one heck of a team, and can read each other even though there's space that wasn't there before Stanford, but that's starting to shrink again.

This is a dream though, and in dreams, there's no room for complications. That's DeanandSam, because Dean protects Sammy and Sammy is Dean's to protect, and for some reason, right now Dean can't reach Sammy.

Dean has this dream, and he doesn't like it _one bit_ because it means something. His dream brain, sans complications, says that he can't reach Sam because what Dad said before he died came true. Bullshit. Dean wouldn't let it. It's not just that Dean would never let Sam lose himself or whathaveyou, but that Dean wouldn't let himself fail Sammy so bad, and DeanandSam definitely wouldn't split into two people at such an important time. They're brothers, and Dean knew about Sammy when Sammy was still very small in Mary Winchester's tummy. He knew about Sammy before anyone else, and Sammy said Dean and Sammy hugged Dean and walked for Dean before he did those things for anyone else.

Like all these very non-complicated dream thoughts have a point, Dean's no longer underneath the Earth and above it, he's just on it, and Sammy is right by him.

Apparently, that's all there is to the dream, because he wakes up knowing that Sammy is right by him (alright, a little behind, because Dean _always_ goes into a situation first) and that he can always make it that way.

* * *

Sometimes, Sam thinks too much. Even when he dreams, there's a bit of over-canalization (Dean calls his verbalization of these mental studies his 'chick flick' moments, but Dean is an insensitive child who can't handle a little introspection), and this dream is no different. He's standing in the middle of a post-apocalyptic world. And why the heck do all the post-apocalyptic worlds look similar? Is it really because if you blow up too many volatile man-made messes, the sky turns gray and never gets sunny again? The twisted metal world around him is stunning in its own way, he supposes, and he's pointedly aware of two very strange things from his position in the middle of this desolation.

The first is that there's an angel watching him from the remains of a skyscraper. How does he know its an angel? Dreams are annoying that way, where you just _know_ things and can come up with explanations for everything (even if you forget it later when you're awake and trying to tell someone else about it). So there's an angel watching him, and if that's not ten kinds of weird (which is, unfortunately, pretty normal for Sam), Dean's not there.

Well, he _is_, but not in the way Sam wants. Dean is supposed to be in his sight at all time, because that's just the way life has turned out. Pre-Stanford, Sam barely went a full day without seeing Dean and never more than three days. During Stanford, it had been an uphill battle to ignore the absence of his brother, and if Jess had thought it weird that sometimes he spoke like there was supposed to be someone else in the room, she never mentioned it. (It had taken a while for Sam to move through those memories, but he was pretty sure that he'd slipped a lot more than around Jess than he'd initially thought.)

Dean's underneath him. Sam hates the way he knows that, like it's some cosmic joke to stand on your very important big brother's grave. There's not really any sign that he's on a grave, but the dream says he's on Dean's grave, metaphorically more likely than not, and Sam definitely does not approve.

Post-Stanford, Dean and he have been acting properly like adult-brothers, with the exception that Sam tells Dean whenever he leaves because he's figured out that Dean starts freaking out a little fast when Sam vanishes without warning. And if Sam is going to be honest, it really freaks him out when he wakes up in one of those stupid motel rooms and the stupid thing is empty. It makes him feel vulnerable and uncertain and it's bad enough that he has nightmares about Jess but the room is always colder without his brother in it, and _crap_, being honest with himself is such a bitch of a thing. When he wakes up, he'll have a harder time being able to stomach past those where-the-hell-is-Dean moments, and he was just getting in the habit again.

So Sam wants to know why Dean is in a grave, and why he's standing on it, and why there's an angel watching him. His first fear is the most prominent, that John Winchester was on the right track to tell Dean to kill Sam if anything started to go rotten. But no, no, Sam would surely be in the grave instead of Dean because- _oh please_, Sam couldn't imagine Dean killing Sam anymore than he could imagine himself turning against his big brother. Sure, they punched each other, but Sam was pretty sure that even if he were insane, he wouldn't kill Dean. A demon might possess him, and then anything was open, but _Sam_ wouldn't kill Dean. Even if they were pissed at each other and hadn't been talking in months (or years), it just wasn't gonna happen.

The second consideration was that someone else killed Dean, and Sam decides that it is possible, loathe though he is to admit it. Out of the two of them, the only reason Sam would ever die was if Dean was (a) not present (it had happened already, after all) or (b) already dead (likely if Sam didn't figure out some way to keep Dean out of hell). The only reason Dean would ever die was if he were saving Sam from something stupid. (Sam was beginning to really hate this dream.)

Actually, someone else _had_ killed Dean, said the dream-brain with its all-knowing-self. And now that Sam was thinking about it, he really didn't approve of that idea, ever. In fact, he down right hated it. Screw Dean going to hell, Sam would walk in and pull him back out if it came to that. If he had to kill those stupid hell hounds with his bare hands, then he would. No one was going to take Dean from Sam, because Dean was Sam's, dammit, and all Sam had was Dean. There was no changing that, no trying to go back to a normal life (barely lasted four years last attempt, and even then it had been questionable), and Sam was beginning to really understand why he got pissed at the thought of Dean going anywhere.

When he woke up, it definitely wasn't going to be allowed.

And because dreams are annoying (especially the ones where you have to be honest with yourself), Sam woke up.

* * *

Sam is praying. To his shame, it's a rare event.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name (except these words don't really sound quite right, because Sam might be a bit more eloquent than Dean, but not enough to certify these spindly letters that have been engraved in gold and painted into holy ground for thousands of years). Thy kingdom Come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven. He stops and shakes his head, hair scraping against his skin unpleasantly in the silence of morning service. To his left, a silver-haired elder peers around her ten-year-old granddaughter and studies him before returning to her own meditations, the drone of the priest lost in holy monotony.

Much like he is sitting in a Catholic church for morning mass, because Dean will not be awake by the time he returns, he's always felt like Catholicism is the closest form of Christianity to the reality of the World. But it's still not enough, because Dean and he have already been led into temptation (rather, they charge fist first into it on a weekly basis) and they deliver other people from evil. None of it will keep Dean out of hell (and God, Father, he only has a few months until Dean is gone from his reach).

But it's the best he has. He switches to Latin, and that falls a little better from his mental tongue. Pater noster, qui es in caelis: sanctificetur Nomen Tuum; adveniat Regnum Tuum; fiat voluntas Tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra. Please do not let my brother's sacrifice be in vain.

The dream weighs heavily in his mind, a comforting warmth against his brain. Dean will not leave him. And he hasn't. It's still Sam and Dean, and Dean's ability to handle emotions is still on par with a rock (a very angry rock, Sam can admit, recalling the way Dean dealt with Ruby), but it's a little bit more like SamandDean, and everyone seems to be getting that. Sam likes that. Sam doesn't want that to change. And he knows that Ruby is lying to him about being able to help Dean, and listens closely to Dean when Dean says she's bad news, but Ruby is persistent and Pater noster, qui es in caelis… please give me the strength to ensure that my brother's sacrifice is not in vain.

The impending date of No More Dean is looming, and so Sam is in this arching cathedral's sanctuary (and it really is a cathedral, they're in a real city and the walls are made of stone and the rose window is stained glass and beautiful), praying to a God he's always thought existed despite evidence to the contrary.

Sam thinks back on the bitter words of Ruby, her sharp (devil's) tongue sliding between vile and sultry as she tells them that they've killed more than they've saved, and she's the demon so she knows what's best and how Lilith will kill them all because they're weak and unable to think in terms of losses and gains. Sam hates her, hates the thought of her. Pater noster, qui es in caelis- and then his mind flashes back to the moments when she was sliding into his life like a snake, the first time he saw her eyes go coal black.

Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secra diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. The old lady shuffles her granddaughter to her other side and offers him a hand as the Latin clings to his lips in breaths of reverent whispers, and he clings to it thoughtlessly, thinking only of his own hatred for those things which have brought him so much grief.

We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary, every legion, every congregation and diabolical sect. Thus, cursed demon and every diabolical legion, we adjure you. Cease to deceive human creatures, and give them to the Poison of Eternal Perdition. Vade, Satana. Go away, Satan. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge. Be humble under the Powerful Hand of God, tremble and flee.

Sam is humbled before the looming loss of Dean, who has been his anchor for all twenty-four (soon to be twenty-five) years of his life. There's a chain on his soul and it is connected to the man four years older than him, who practically raised him. Sent him off to Stanford with a kiss and a promise not to interrupt Sammy's dreams, no matter how much it hurt him (Dean had gone stone-faced and had joked about geekiness, but he'd been proud and Sam knew he'd been terrified of what Sam would be without him- of what Dean would be without Sam because Sam had been scared of that too). Dragged him through the nightmares of Jess' death with all the brusque Dean-style he could afford.

You are my rock, my hiding place. Pater noster, qui es in caelis: please save us. Save me from myself, from what the infernal adversary thinks I can become. Save my brother, who I need to be strong. We are not Dean and Sam, father, we are one soul in two bodies, and everything I am not, he is, and everything he is not, I am, and Pater noster, qui es in caelis: _I beg of you, do not let them separate us_. Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie; Dean only wished to save the half of himself that had been lost to the infernal adversary, and now I must do the same.

The grandmother pats his hand as she stands to leave, mass is over, but Sam stays hunched in the bench, Latin tumbling from his lips in senseless prayer. Exorcisms, the lord's prayer. I can save no one without him to save me, we are worthless without each other. Years of trying to be two separate people, and dying had never made it so clear that they weren't.

When Sam finally returns to the motel, Dean has been up for an hour and Sam cannot manage to get anything but thick Latin out of his tongue. For the first time in years, Dean lets Sam curl against him in an embrace that is not prompted by reunion or departure, an embrace that is offered as comfort and the knowledge that they are not separate. Not right now.

* * *

Dean does not like churches. They remind him of uncomfortable doubts; that if there is a hell there should be a heaven, that if there are demons there should be angels. They remind him of Sammy, who has taken to reciting Latin to himself. Dean does not mind this, because he thinks that Latin suits Sammy, and sometimes he even wishes it suited him better so that they could go back to those years before Stanford, when Dean could have a conversation with Sammy without anyone else hearing a word. They still have those conversations, its probably why a large number of people assume their gay; entire conversations pass between a series of fluttering eyelashes and tired eyes.

It's taken a while for Dean to realize that grizzled couples in the two million diners they've eaten at share similar unspoken conversations, and he's actually alright with the comparison of him and Sammy to such long-lasting commitments, because there's pride to be earned from being that in tune with his brother. His Sammy, who he had protected long before his dad had pushed his baby brother into his arms and long before his instructions in life were "take care of Sam".

Dean will do anything for Sammy. It has always been this way, and it will always be this way. Dean had let Sammy go to Stanford, half-hoping his brother wouldn't find what he was looking for in that damn apple-pie life, half-hoping that his brother _did_ find what he was looking for and that his Sammy would be happy. Because Dean could have hours of conversation with Sammy without speaking a word, but he'd known the minute Sammy had started training (started fighting with John, first small and then Sammy had gotten big and independent and so very notlikeDean) that he couldn't make his Sammy happy.

Now that Sammy doesn't want the apple-pie life (Dean thinks Sammy might be lost as to what he wants, and Dean is kind of the same, except they both know that they don't want to be separated anymore), Dean tries a little harder, but for two people who can talk without speaking, move without talking, they're really kind of different.

Trying is apparently enough. So Dean is in a church, and Sammy is praying to his right, and the solemn congregation is all the pews in front of them, and Dean lets Sammy clutch his hand as he prays to the very ostentatious Jesus at the front of the sanctuary and closes his eyes respectfully when the pastor starts to pray. It's three weeks until Dean's year is up, and Sammy's been clingy but Dean's okay with that. He's not good with self-honesty (it's a bitch, he discovered early on, and thus something to be avoided whenever possible), but he does know that the only thing harder than leaving Sammy is letting Sammy leave him. The second has already been dealt with, the first isn't something he thinks he can fix.

It was a contract, after all. Sammy likes to go to churches whenever they're in a town on a Sunday (or a Saturday, because there was that one Seventh-day Adventist Church, and it was actually a nice service, not like the Catholic sermons or the Baptist speeches on hellfire), and Dean has started to go with them, just for the extra moments. Contract dates are growing close. Contract, he spits at himself.

It's clarification on a fact that makes his face grow hot with rage, that even though he made that deal with a demon to save his baby brother (because Sammy might be a sasquatch but he's still Dean's baby brother of a sasquatch) from a demon's designs, he's still the dishonorable bastard if he tries to break it. He gets that. Sammy took a while to get it, but Dean's satisfied that Sammy's gotten it too. He has to honor the agreement. One year for Sammy's entire life, and it took a while for Dean to get that Sammy was so upset because he'd be enduring the same thing Dean had managed to escape; life without the other.

But screw it, Dean is a bit of a slut and not afraid to lie about it (self-honest moments only, though, thankyouverydamnfuckingmuch), and he probably cheats people out of their money too much (he doesn't really justify it when he uses the money to get them to the next haunting, but he does his best), and he's constantly being an characterization of demons everywhere, but he keeps his promises and honors his debts. He went to prison to save a prison full of guilty sonsuvbitches, and he'll go to hell to save Sam from stepping foot inside of it.

That thought alone sometimes makes his blood run cold, because Sam _was dead_ for longer than just a few moments, and Dean is terrified that he wasn't fast enough as it was, but Sam only ever has nightmares about Dean now (there might be a bit of pride that he's taken Jess' spot, and isn't _that fucked up, you selfish bastard_).

Dean doesn't like churches. They bring out all of his self-honest-to-God-the-Father-flaws, make him want to repent for the things he does even though he can't any more than he does (and the words, begging for forgiveness between sips of the beer bottle when Sam is half-asleep and can't follow his lips in the gloom of the motel, always tasting like ash in his mouth). They make him remember why he won't let Sammy ever die without him, they make him think the words with poignant temperance; he is Nothing without Sam and he's not Dean without Sam. Worst of all, churches make him admit something that makes him feel so arrogant and self-sure and _dirty filthy liar, you're just too full of yourself_, _Dean_; that Sam isn't really Sam without Dean either.

Sam said it a month ago when they were drunk, staring at a TV with motionless eyes and bottles in mirrored grips. Dean can barely think it without begging forgiveness from whatever is out there to listen.

When the service is over (it's a quiet suburban Presbyterian sanctuary, this time, and past Sam is an entire family who's mother had looked with disapproval at Dean's nervous twitches and torn jeans), Sam grips Dean's hand like a lifeline, and Dean quietly leads him to where the Impala sits in the parking lot between a minivan and a minivan. "It'll be okay Sammy," isn't something he can say, but he thinks it in his head, because as long as Sam holds on to Dean like this, Dean can't possibly go anywhere anyway.

* * *

Sam buries Dean under a tree in Bobby's backyard, the minimalist pine coffin bathed in salt and etched with enough demon repellant to last eternity. He tells Ruby to go to hell and Bobby actually exorcises her successfully when she tries to come back, spitting nails at Sam's weak mindset and inability to fight without his big fucking brother. Bobby is surprised when Sam does nothing but drink a beer at night and reads. He reads mostly religion, everything from Mayan rituals to Catholicism to Native American practices, and Bobby has plenty of books and plenty of beer, and Bobby prefers it to Sam tearing off into righteous independence, so he tries not to worry.

Worry, because he doesn't know how he could have missed the obvious; that weird blank spot by Sam (even though Dean usually sat across from his brother and Bobby definitely always sits at an diagonal angle at the table, just in case), and the even weirder empty places in conversation when he talks to Sam. How he could have missed that, he doesn't know, but he's glad Sam's not self destructive, but he can't imagine that Sam can be anything at all with that hole in his entire existence.

At least he reads. And after half a week passes, Sam picks up a law book from the local library, and Bobby wonders if Sam is thinking about going back to law school, since Dean is… isn't.

But Sam isn't thinking about law school or school at all. The apple pie life, or even the edited version with bachelor hood and a career but no family, is gone from his vision. At the moment, so his hunting. He just wants to learn, because learning is something he can do without Dean. And if he starts getting a little too far into some of Bobby's really obscure books about arch-angels and prophecies and stronger exorcisms, then maybe it'll be useful someday.

It takes Bobby to the end of the week to realize Sam's not eating right. Another half a day of dropped hints to realize Sam doesn't realize it either.

He's not sure what to do, and thinks about calling Ellen (mother figure, right?), thinks about trying to talk to Sam (but there's that hole, and Bobby isn't sure it can be fixed), thinks about trying to go hunting (but Sam needs him for support, even removed and silent as Bobby is, and really, Bobby is too old to go tearing off into trouble and Sam definitely doesn't want to).

So Sam sits on Bobby's couch and reads.

* * *

The last thing Dean remembers before the heat is Sam's hands, clutching his hand. They only went down half-fighting, he recalls. Ruby stepped in and Lilith appeared, and Sam was too busy trying to have those last moments before Lilith's hell-hounds went ape-shit to really do anything but threaten them away. In an ironic twist of mercy from the contract holder, Lilith stayed quiet and stepped back. Ruby, Dean recalls with a bit of extra venom, was a bitch.

The memory of Sam's hand clutching his own is nice. In this place where Dean is, suspended and hooked and chained in so many ways that his consciousness is apathetic to the apparent pain, it is very hot. An unpleasant, biting heat, and very cold as well (max suffering, brought to you by multiple temperature flashes!), and it's nice that the place where Sam's memory breaches Dean's pain (because yes, it hurts. Alright? It hurts goddamn letmego letmego) is a much nicer warmth that tingles pleasantly.

Dean isn't terribly eager to be strung up like this. In fact, he hates it, because it makes it hard to get back to Sammy, who is holding on to a part of Dean (and Dean suspects with a bit of concern, probably vice versa). No part of Sammy has any business going near hell, and his big brother is going to make sure it stays that way. Mildly hard to accomplish, what with the hooks and the chains and the screaming (Our Father, who is very far above in heaven, the noise in this place alone should make you reconsider allowing to exist) of all those tortured souls.

He closes his eyes, narrows them at the black slate of his eyelids, and it really does burn and hurt and bite and bitch, but his hand (Sammy's hand) remains untouched by it, and that's enough for him

He's not really sure how he gets loose, only that he's got to get out of here and more importantly, get Sammy out of here. No business in this pit, with all these screams, and this nasty smell that makes Dean want to puke. Heavy sulfur, vomit, he's not sure how many bad things have all been rolled into one scent, but it adds fuel to his fire, and if hell has guards, they'd better move the fuck back.

They do, a little bit. It takes an metal stake and a lot of black blood from the twisted visages of hell (it's so weird how mutated everything is down here, horns and leathery skin and hooves, some faces too beautiful to be beautiful) to get them to step back and start treating him like an upstart demon and not a prisoner. That consideration levels the playing field even more (never let Dean Winchester up from his position under your heel, he'll just keep fighting all the way up if he has to), and there's blood everywhere, but Dean figures that his impending departure from hell has been wrought with all kinds of justice. He was sent to hell by a demon because he couldn't let his brother fall to a demon, and he's going to kill a lot of demons to get out of hell, and it serves them all right for being pansy fucking bitches who killed people who're just trying to live.

Damn straight.

He starts murmuring Christo just for fun, and it's amusing to see them flinch in their skins and it's hard to track their eyes, but the liquid flame that devours the corpses is morbidly satisfying to watch, the way it reflects in those stupid black eyes.

Dean Winchester wakes up in a pine coffin that smells strongly of salt. He's soaked in the black blood of the infernal armies and six feet under (literally, because Sam is such a geek even with his dead brother's burial), and there's a cock-sure smirk on his face because all the pieces of Sammy that are stuck to him, making him Dean, good and shit, all of them are out of hell.

His baby brother has no business being in hell, after all.

He's looking forward to clutching the warmth his baby brother's hand, and he's looking forward to a good meal. Reorienting himself from the torn remains of Bobby's back yard (Rumsfeld is barking from around the fence and Dean has to kick dirt up ferociously to displace a bit of coffin stuck to his ankle), noting that he's wearing clothes torn into by hell hounds but his skin is just as fine as it always has been, Dean wonders if he can get Bobby to go out and get some pie and burgers for dinner.

* * *

Notes-

This is my response to Supernatural (Season 1-5), and my admiration for the script and story of Supernatural (because maybe it was only artistic license and the entertainment industry which prompted certain plot twists, but it was still beautiful); my admiration for the characterization of Sam and Dean, which Padalecki and Ackles had fitting the script pretty darn well by the time the first season was half-way done. (I also think Collin's portrayal of Castiel was bloody brilliant). I should like to add that as Castiel considered, my scenario of SamandDean puts them one kiss on the lips away from being lovers, but that they _are not_. A love that is stronger than blood ties or sexual relations, going past personal history into a perfect blend of physical comfort and emotional connection is something that I find positively stunning (and very possible, despite today's emphasis on sexsexsex).

This piece's starting point with Castiel is sometime in S05, after "Fallen Idols" but before "the Point of No Return". Then it jumps to (vaguely) "Jus in Bello" and the episodes before Dean's death. If I had to choose one thing I hated about it, it'd be the lack of solidity to the scenario of Sam snapping if Lucifer had killed Dean in attempt to get Sam to be his host proper. I think Sam _would_ snap in one fashion or another, but I have a hard time seeing him melting the world down for it. (I also adore it when he spews Latin, you might have gathered.)

I'm kind of tempted to continue it, but it has been a long time since I've touched fan fiction writing of any kind, and (I won't lie) this type of emotive first-person mind-set omfg thought-trails style is exhausting. Amusing, because I think in this style constantly. Still, I'm definitely eager for thoughts on my considerations about Dean and Sam, who (as characters in a fictional existence) were very powerful as brothers, but always felt like they were just one supporting pillar short of keeping themselves and each other together. Whether that was the need for plot twists or just Eric Kripke's way of noting the perils of being only human, it left an impact on me (aw geeze).

The Latin and translation was pulled from various sources, including the Supernatural Wiki and Wikipedia. The Lord's Prayer and the Rituale Romanum.


End file.
